Crisis
by Aeroway
Summary: During one of Tobias's darkest times, who will be there to help him? Pre-series. One-shot. Warning: Dark themes, angst


**A/N: I actually finished writing and editing this story months ago, but didn't touch it again until last week. Special thanks goes to HeavenRose for convincing me to publish this. Dark themes ahead.**

**I do not own Animorphs.  
**

* * *

Tobias hears loud yells coming from the downstairs living room, those of his drunken uncle in front of the television set. He sits upstairs on his bed, head buried in his pillow, waiting for the shouts to quiet down.

Dude is on the bed next to him, curled up into a grey ball of fuzz. The animal seems to hear the noisy disturbances and wakes up from his nap, an annoyed look plastered over his face. Tobias scoops up the striped tomcat and gently rubs the patch of fur behind Dude's ears that always makes him purr. The cat lets out a contented sound of bliss before giving a few meows.

"You hungry, Dude?" Tobias asks. Dude seems to meow in response. "I'll go get you something." Tobias frowns as he remembers that there isn't any food in the house. He needs to go out and buy groceries himself, knowing his uncle is too intoxicated to be of any help.

The yelling seems to have died away now, but Tobias waits a few more minutes before cautiously making his way out of his bedroom and down the stairs. As he predicted, his uncle is passed out on the couch with the television still on. Tobias walks past the living room, crinkling his nose at the scent of alcohol and vomit wafting in the air. He takes a twenty-dollar bill out of his uncle's wallet lying on the table and quietly exits the house.

The sun is partially obscured by a mask of hazy clouds that diffuse its harsh light throughout the sky. The streets are silent. Eerily silent, as if his block were suddenly transformed into a ghost town. The only sounds come from the rustling of the tree branches as they sway with the wind.

Tobias makes his way down the street, around the corner, and down another street to the local convenience store. He is about to enter, but feels a shadow looming over him.

Before he can react, he feels a sharp blow to the back of his head. He turns around, spots swarming viciously before his eyes, leaving him dazed and confused. He blinks several times as he looks up at his attacker. Rick Stathis.

Panic and fear churn violently in his stomach until he feels sick. Tobias tries to catch the attention of the shopkeeper, banging desperately on the glass door. But apparently the shopkeeper doesn't hear, or doesn't care, because she is still fixated on the magazine that is spread before her.

"Nice try, but I don't think so," Rick says with a malicious snarl. He twists Tobias's arms behind his back and drags him forcefully into an abandoned alleyway. In a sickeningly sweet voice, he says, "I missed you this morning. Were you trying to avoid me? That hurts, Tobes. That really hurts."

Tobias tries to brace himself for what is coming next. Rick slams him against the wall until the smaller boy is certain his skull is going to crack open. He feels a heavy kick to his ribs, accompanied by a cracking noise. He tries to block the next kick with his hands, but it catches him off balance and knocks him on the alley floor. Blow after blow rain down upon his frail body, forming new bruises on top of his old ones.

He tries to call out for help, but his voice is stuck in his throat. Silently, he begs for somebody, _anybody_, to come and help him. He closes his eyes to avoid seeing his attacker's sneer, but is unable to block out the taunts.

"You're pathetic, you worthless freak," Rick shouts. "Where are your parents? Missing a mommy who you can go and cry to?"

Tobias can't keep the whimpering out of his voice, so he resorts to begging. "Stop. Please stop. Go away." He flinches as he realizes how soft and broken his own voice sounds.

After what feels like an eternity, the kicks and punches finally stop. Tobias's entire body feels battered and bruised, but it is Rick's laugh that hurts him the most as his attacker walks away. _Worthless_, he hears in the wind.

For a moment, he doesn't feel any of the pain, only the humiliation. He manages to pick himself off the ground, tears threatening to spill over. He runs away, towards the only place he feels truly safe.

He reaches the park and nobody else is there, but he welcomes the solitude. With nobody watching him, Tobias bolts into the underground tunnel that connects one end of the park to the other. Frantically, he manages to find the handle of the door in the middle of the underpass, its lock long since rusted away. The door slams shut behind him as he collapses onto the floor.

And then he lets the tears fall.

* * *

He stumbles out of the tunnel, rubbing his sleeve furiously against his eyes. The sun has long since set, and the heavy clouds obscure the few stars and waning moon, creating a night as black as charcoal. He makes his way along the sidewalk, feet dragging along the ground, being careful not to trip over the cracked rubble and broken bottles. His ribs throb in pain with each step he takes. A sharp pounding in his head makes him see double. He tries blinking to clear his vision, but it just makes the pounding worse. God, why does everything _hurt_ so much?

Somehow, his legs lead him to the lamppost at the corner of the street. He leans against the metal support, feeling its chill slowly numb his face. Its electrical hum drowns out the other sounds of the night: the call of a nearby owl, the rumble of cars passing by. He keeps his head pressed against the post, lost in its soothing sound and his flowing tears.

It is a long while before he dares to open his eyes again. The sky is still dark, but the air has cooled considerably, and his breaths form puffs of vapor in the air. His tears have already dried, but he reflexively wipes his face against his sleeve. He has stopped crying, but he still feels the same weight in his heart, the same unbearable force trying to overwhelm and engulf him.

He just wants to give in. He's sick of feeling this way. Sick of waking up each day without a real family. Sick of being picked on and pummeled by others until every part of his body is bruised and injured. Sick of … everything.

His mind reels, terrified at his own thoughts. But he does have a solution. At home. In his uncle's bedroom. Locked away in a wooden drawer. He knows where the key is. He knows where the bullets are. He can…

This train of thought sends him straight back into tears again. It shouldn't have to come to this, he tells himself. He should get help. He should talk to someone.

But who would care?

He remembers a couple months ago when someone came into school to talk about situations like this, situations where people give up and think they only have one way out. The speaker left a phone number.

Maybe…?

He tries to pick himself off the ground, but his legs are too weak to support the rest of his body. He half-stumbles, half-crawls to the nearest telephone booth. He fingers fumble as he tries to open the door. He wipes away his tears with his sleeve.

He ends up sitting on the floor of the booth, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his ear. He struggles to recall the digits as he presses the numbers on the keypad uncertainly. The phone rings once. Silently, he hopes, he prays. This is his one last chance. The phone rings again. His breath is caught in his throat and he can't breathe. As the phone rings a third time, it is answered by a warm voice.

"Saint Ann's Crisis Center. This is Loren speaking. How can I help?"

Tobias lets out a deep sigh of relief.


End file.
